


I'd Be Deceiving

by SpookyJookie



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 19:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6297877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyJookie/pseuds/SpookyJookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You paused.</p>
<p>Home. Is that what you were calling it nowadays? It used to be 'grandpa's farm,' but you suppose those days have long since gone. The old farmhouse didn't feel like a home; not to you, anyway. You were brought up in the city, surrounded by car exhaust, idle chitchat, and the occasional demand for drug money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Be Deceiving

**Author's Note:**

> i've literally never written fanfiction before please be gentle

_C'mon, just one more level. That's it, that's..._

This had become your mantra when the pickaxe in your hands started to burn. When new and slightly more disturbed creatures would frighten you. When your muscles ached, you would power through with one goal in mind.

You were determined to fill the shelves of Gunther's library with books, artifacts, and gems alike.

"Fuck," you sighed. After a long day in the mines, the midsummer air almost seemed cool on your skin. Time was lost on you; you didn't bother to check it when you were down there, and besides - you left your grandfather's old pocket watch on your beside table by accident. You looked to the sky and saw that the moon was just barely overheard, so you adjusted your pack, lit up a torch, and started on the journey home.

You paused.

Home. Is that what you were calling it nowadays? It used to be 'grandpa's farm,' but you suppose those days have long since gone. The old farmhouse didn't feel like a home; not to you, anyway. You were brought up in the city, surrounded by car exhaust, idle chitchat, and the occasional demand for drug money. It was too quiet here; there were nights, in the beginning, when you would lie awake and listen to the sound of your own breath; because at least that was something, right?

But wasn't that the point? To escape from all of that noise? Your dead end job? Your so-called friends? You came out here to become one with nature, but you never had a green thumb. Now, you're stuck in a town so far removed from modern life that the people here send _letters_ to each other, actual _letters_ , as a means of communication. And you get the feeling that some people only bother to write you because you're your grandfather's grandchild. It's all so faux-picturesque. Put it on a postcard, slap your name on it, and send one back from whence you came. You're sure your dad would appreciate it.

“Home sweet home,” you muttered as came upon your property. You put out the torch, jammed the key into the lock on your front door, and flipped on the light switch in the living room. Once inside, you dropped your backpack onto the floor and let out a long sigh of relief. _Shit,_ you rolled your shoulders winced; they were already starting to ache. After glaring at your cursed pack, you pushed it over to the chest in the living room with your foot. _Alright,_ _let's see... Rocks, three frozen geodes, seven magma geodes, two omni geodes... rocks, a solar essence or two, more rocks, wood, torches, eugh, bat wings, slime, guh! Quartz, refined quartz, jade, and... a couple of void essences. Not too shabby._ You made out pretty well today, if you do say so yourself.

You remembered back to when you looked up at the moon and got an idea; it was a clear night, after all. You closed the chest, lit up another torch, and made your way outside of the old farmhouse.

After, maybe, the fifth time that your foot got snagged by branch, you decided to turn back and grab your axe. You couldn't help but feel disappointed in yourself; the field was so overgrown that you couldn't even walk through it. Images of the farm from years ago flooded your mind's eye; the purple and blue fairy roses that lined the walkways, the neat, tidy rows of whatever produce was in season, the greenhouse... oh, the greenhouse! It was the place where you spent most of your time when you visited grandpa.

You sighed and set your axe down against the fence that lead into the forest. God, what were you going to do? This was all too much for one person to handle; surely your grandfather would understand...

"Up late, huh?"

You started, stirred out of your thoughts by a familiar voice. You looked around for the owner, and...

Was that... Shane? You hadn't expected to run into anybody, let alone _Shane_ , out here, this late at night. You were actually surprised more by the fact that he wasn't at the saloon.

"Uh, yeah," you faltered, but you approached the dock regardless.

He regarded you with a lopsided smile, and you suddenly became painfully aware of how you must look. You attempted to fix your hair by passing your fingers through it, but they only came back slick with sweat. The tattered, white shirt you wore clung to your body from the outpouring of sweat and was, without a doubt, stained with monster blood, guts, and dirt. Your plain, denim shorts were much also in the same state of disrepair. Your boots were splayed with mud and God knows what else.

On the flip side, Shane looked less than presentable, but that was hardly new. His tore-up JojaMart hoodie was left unzipped in order to expose one of the many striped shirts he owned. This one was grey and red. His shorts were slightly wrinkled and his shoes were untied, but that didn't make you feel any less inadequate. You cursed him, because despite the messy hair, stubble, and bags underneath his eyes... he looked good.

Shane cleared his throat. Had he noticed you staring? Oh, God, you felt your cheeks warm.

"Here, have a cold one... you look like you could use it." His tired eyes looked you over in good humor, and you nudged his arm with your elbow.

"Thanks, but, uh... I don't drink," you said, the words tumbling out of your mouth lamely.

Shane raised an accusatory eyebrow at you. “Oh, really? Then why were you at Gus' last week?”

“I was supposed to meet a, uh... friend. For dinner.” You felt your cheeks color at the memory. It wasn't a lie; you were supposed to meet Elliott last Tuesday at the Stardrop Saloon, but he never showed, that _asshole_. You had hung out dejectedly near the jukebox when Shane came up to you and drunkenly exclaimed that, _hey, this is one of my favorite songs!_ despite there being no record selected.

“That's funny, because you certainly left with me that night,” he said, suggestively, waggling his brows at you. You scoffed and swatted his arm with the back of your hand, but smiled at the memory.

“God, I just wanted to make sure you got home alright. Gus cut you off pretty late,” you rolled your eyes as you attempted to explain yourself. Shane grumbled and dolefully rubbed where you just hit him.

You patted his shoulder and shucked off your boots at the end of the dock before sitting down at the edge. Your toes just barely grazed the water before you decided to completely submerge them.

“Shit,” you heard Shane swear from behind you, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him..

“What'd you do?”

“Fuckin', spilled beer all over my- _damn it_ ,” he gave an aggravated sigh as he threw his hoodie onto the dock. He sat down beside you, tossed his torn sneakers somewhere nearby, sat his beer down, and put his head in his hands.

“You're such a mess,” you said, lightheartedly, with a smirk on your face.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don't know,” he replied, a little too quickly. Hurt panged through your chest; you hadn't meant to insult him. You placed a hand on his shoulder before he shrugged it off.

“Shane, I didn't mean it like tha-”

“I know,” he sighed. “I know. Sorry.”

“S'okay,” you shrugged, and decided to let it go.

Shane was quiet, after that, so you crossed your arms behind your head and laid back, onto the dock.

The sight was breathtaking. The clear, night sky was framed by the dark silhouettes of surrounding trees, and you felt so small, so insignificant underneath the thousand twinkling lights above you. In the city, you were lucky if you saw a dozen above the street lamps, in between the sky scrapers. You didn't spend too much time looking up back there, anyway.

And... again, it was the sound of Shane's voice that stirred your from your thoughts.

"You ever feel like... no matter what you do, you're gonna fail?” There was a pause. “Like you're stuck in some miserable abyss, and you're in so deep that you can't even see the light of day?"

He sounded... earnest. Like his venture could have gone with the wind, or been ignored, if you so chose. Instead, you sat up slowly and considered the question.

"I don't know what I was thinking," you started to say. Then, "actually, I take that back. I know exactly what I was thinking. I thought that I could just... pack up my bags and leave the world behind." You sighed; you never really talked about this to anyone before. "That, maybe, a change in scenery would do me some good. But I'm still just as miserable as I was the day I got here."

It was silent after that, and you colored after having revealed something so personal. You looked for something, anything, to distract yourself with. In Shane's hands, his bottle was empty, but you weren't sure if that was from to the spill earlier or if he had been nursing it this entire time. You watched his fingers as he traced patterns into the sweat of the bottle.

You wondered if he even heard you.

“So, yeah,” you swallowed and looked away. “I know what that feels like.”

A moment later, you jumped underneath the hand that found its way to your back. Your eyes lifted to Shane's as your heart fluttered unexpectedly, but you averted your gaze before he could meet it. Instead, you rested your head against his shoulder and, before long, you closed your eyes, warm and content.


End file.
